Tangerine Kisses
by Ciara in cotton socks
Summary: Arthur has always been one for organization, with emotions taking a back seat. That is, until she came into his path. With the Fischer case complete, he thinks he can leave her and any trace of emotion behind. Life has other ideas.


**A/N: I've never written an **_**Inception**_** story before, so please be nice! I've just got this nagging feeling that Arthur and Ariadne have the potential to be a really great couple, something which the film didn't really do much about. So, I thought I'd have a stab at it. Please don't kill me!**

**Reviews are love, even a couple of words!**

**/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/**

He figures he won't see her again, not for a while at least. The Fischer case has taken its toll on all of them, even Eames, who is perpetually cheerful even when painfully hung over. He can't see Cobb taking on any more jobs, not now that he's got his shiny, cute-as-a-button kids back and is busy playing the doting father. Sure, the guy has serious issues ('Mal issues', Arthur thinks, though he never says it out loud), but he's not stupid enough to risk all that ever again. Eames probably will, Yusuf too, but it won't be the same without Cobb. The Extractor might not have been the most cheerful person in the world, but he and Arthur have developed a friendship over the years and Arthur will miss him. Without him, the team won't be the same. Eames and Yusuf will find someone else to work with, and Arthur supposes he will too, eventually. And Ariadne... he honestly has no idea what the girl will do next. They are polar opposites; where Arthur craves organization and compartmentalization, Ariadne lives for creation. She'll probably continue crafting entire dream worlds for somebody else, but for all Arthur knows she could up sticks and move to some obscure countryside home and work by herself, just building and creating. Either way, Arthur doubts their paths will cross again.

But he's wrong.

Because when he steps outside the airport terminal, she's there again. She's leaning against the wall, waiting for a cab. She looks efficient and professional in her power suit, but he thinks wistfully that he preferred the colourful young woman they first met in Paris, the one who freaked out but was overcome by the insatiable lure of the dream world. Her hair is tied back off her face, and Arthur has to resist an urge to stride over to her and tug it loose from its bindings. This in itself is unusual, because Arthur never feels anything remotely like this, certainly not for another human being. He likes facts and certainties, not passionate little architects who care too much and get in deeper than anyone ever wanted them to. Part of him dreads to think what she could get out of him, since she was able to delve so deep into Cobb's nightmares. The other part longs for it.

Before he knows what he's doing, he has crossed the space between them and is standing before her. Even stranger, he feels _nervous_. And Arthur simply doesn't get nervous. He's far too organized and structured for that. His hand reaches automatically for the comforting form of the totem buried in his pocket. He knows everyone else thinks of it as an anchor to reality, and he does too, to an extent, but at times like this he feels it is more of a stress ball.

"Ariadne," he says hesitantly, and she glances up from beneath sooty lashes with a tired smile.

"Arthur."

"Are you staying here in LA?" he ventures, wishing desperately that his leg would stop trembling. Ariadne gives a small yawn and nods.

"Yes, but I haven't gotten as far as figuring out where just yet. You?"

"I made a reservation while I was waiting for my luggage."

She mutters something which sounds suspiciously like "Of course you did," and rolls her eyes. Her gaze flickers towards the taxi rank, which is still devoid of vehicles apart from an illegally parked VW hippie bus that is about to be clamped by a rotund traffic officer, and a sigh flutters through her lips.

"Tired?" Arthur guesses astutely, and she nods. "It's perfectly normal, after going in so deep. I'm a little drained myself."

"You are?" she asks, relief etched into her pretty features. She's so good at what she does, at crafting entire worlds from nothing but sheer imagination, that Arthur forgets sometimes how new she is to his world. He realises that she's still a little scared. "I just want to get to sleep."

"My hotel isn't far from here," he tells her. "I've got the number right here. They're very good."

She nibbles on her lower lip for a moment, lost in thought, and then nods. "Thanks," she murmurs quietly and Arthur, ever galant, offers her his cell phone. Once she has confirmed her reservation (in the room next to his, coincidentally), they lapse into silence again. It's cold out, and Ariadne shivers before fishing out a dark trench coat from her small suitcase. Arthur feels a thrill at the sight of the gooseflesh rising on her porcelain skin and looks away hastily.

Moments later, a cab pulls up in front of them. Ariadne picks up her case daintily and hurries towards the warmth of the interior. Arthur simply stands and watches her heft the luggage into the trunk. She's just clambering into the backseat when she turns to him with an impish grin.

"Well come on then," she smirks. "No point in you freezing to death, is there?"

And Arthur follows her dumbly, electricity pulsing in his veins. The journey passes extraordinarily quickly, and soon enough they are standing outside Arthur's hotel of choice. He has his own dark holdall in one hand and Ariadne's neat little case in the other. The building is a lot like Arthur, understaded but with keen attention to detail. There's lots of chrome and glass, including a walkway constructed entirely of glass overhead that leads from one part of the hotel to the other. Arthur has always liked it, though strangely enough it was Eames who put him onto the place.

"Shall we?" he asks, one eyebrow quirked, and leads the way up the smooth steps to the lobbey. Ariadne follows in his wake and he is acutely aware of her presence, as he has been since she joined the team. Not that he would ever tell her that.

"Good evening sir," the perky blonde receptionist chirps as he reaches her. "Checking in?"

Arthur nods and begins to follow the usual procedure as Ariadne follows suit to his left. He accepts his key card gratefully and turns with weary anticipation to Ariadne.

"I'm going to head up to bed," he informs her. "You should do the same. The fatigue really sets in after a little while."

"I think I might just have a drink in the bar first," says Ariadne. "Something to take the edge off, you know? It's been an eventful day."

"Eventful," Arthur echoes faintly; there's an understatement if ever he's heard one. Ariadne moves slowly away from him and he feels a little disappointed to see her go. She has her hand on the door to the bar when he calls out to her. "Goodnight, Ariadne."

"Goodnight Arthur."

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Arthur wakes up quite suddenly, a rare occurance apart from when he gets a kick on a job. Or dies, on a job. When he's alone, in his own bed or his own hotel room, with no case hanging over him, he usually sleeps soundly. Dreamlessly.

So when he wakes in the dead of night, he's certain someone must be trying to contact him. He reaches for his cell phone to see if it's Eames, drunk out of his mind in a bar somewhere and eager to regale him with tales of his exploits since their case. There is precedent. Plenty of it, in fact. But when his vision settles enough for him to see the screen in front of him, there's no incoming call. He checks his pager and the satellite phone he carries with him on jobs and even the laptop charging on the room's wooden desk. But there are no incoming calls or messages or pages. He sits on the bed with his head in his hands and wonders what could have woken him from his slumber.

That's when he hears it. A scream.

Soft at first, but as he listens it gets louder. It starts as a sort of keening sob and rises in pitch and volume to a terrified shriek. And it continues, going on and on until he's certain the owner of the voice will die from lack of breath. Arthur shivers.

"No!" the voice screams. "No, no, no!"

Arthur stands up slowly.

"Please no, PLEASE!"

He knows that voice.

"Wake up! Arthur, wake up!"

Ariadne.

He streaks across the room in a blur of pale skin and dark boxers and is out of the room in the blink of an eye. He knows it's late, that he is disturbing the other guests, but frankly he doesn't care. He pounds on her door with his fists, hammering and calling her name through the wood.

"Ariadne," he calls. "Ariadne, it's me. Let me in!"

No response, nothing apart from her screaming.

"Ariadne!"

There is a flurry of activity at the end of the corridor, and Arthur sees a young man with olive-toned skin coming towards him. He panics momentarily, but then he remembers that he is Arthur, able to cope with whatever obstacle a job places in his path. This is no different.

"Excuse me sir," the bell boy says politely. "Is there a problem here?"

"I'm sorry about the disturbance," he replies apologetically. "I needed to make a phone call, business, you understand. But I seem to have locked myself out of the room. And my wife, she's very prone to nightmares. Being left alone seems to have set her off, so if you could..."

"Yes, yes of course!" the teenager exclaims, hastily hurrying to fish out the master key card from his pocket. He seems eager to put a stop to the disturbance, and asks no more questions. That suits Arthur perfectly; in fact, this is the sort of person he really likes.

"Thank you," he says graciously and slips in side, shutting the door behind him. Eames would be proud, he thinks dryly. Then another sob comes from the interior and he remembers himself.

"Ariadne," he whispers, running to her. "Ariadne, wake up."

The girl is sitting bolt upright in her large double bed, her eyes wide open and her mouth stretched in a continous scream. She is deathly pale, and it is evident to Arthur that she is asleep, despite initial appearances. She has not noticed his entrance.

He rushes to her side and shakes her gently. No response.

"Ariadne," he whispers urgently. "Ariadne, come back."

"Arthur," she moans. "Arthur, don't go. Please, please, please... WAKE UP!"

This last is a bloodcurdling shriek that makes Arthur want to crush her to his chest and never let go. The fear in her voice makes him feel violently sick. He shakes her again, rougher this time, and even slaps her cheek. The noise his hand makes against her skin causes him to wince, but it does the job.

Quite suddenly, she is awake. Her eyes are rolling around wildly in her head and she gasps frantically for air. Her hands are scrabbling for her totem and the only good thing is that the screaming has stopped. In its place are tears, shivering, shaking tears cascading down her face. Arthur plucks her little chess piece from the nightstand and places it in her clammy palm.

"Ariadne," he says soothingly. "Ariadne, it's alright. You're alright."

"Arthur?" she gasps breathlessly and she shudders painfully. Her gaze is childlike as she takes his face in hungrily. "I thought... I thought..."

"I know," he says gently, perched on the edge of the bed. "You went in so deep, it was bound to have an effect on you. Particularly as you're so inexperienced."

He wishes he didn't sound so matter-of-fact. She must think he's like a robot.

"Will it..." she trails off and shakes her head before steeling herself once more. "Will it be like this all the time?"

"No," he says firmly. "It won't last. Soon, you'll be just like the rest of us. Undreaming, sleeping in blissful nothingness."

"Good," mutters Ariadne with a vicious tremor. "I never want to see _that_ again."

She shivers again, and Arthur realises that it's not just from the after-effects of the nightmare. Her window is open, and there is a chill in the room. He wishes he had a jacket to present her with. Instead, he settles for grabbing another blanket from the closet and draping it over her shoulders. Ariadne smiles gratefully and folds herself into the warmth it provides. Arthur doesn't realise that he has left his hand on her shoulder until she reaches up and grasps it tightly.

"Thank you," she murmurs huskily, and motions to him to take a seat next to her. Arthur perches awkwardly on the beige coverlet, careful to keep a little space between them. He has never been more aware of himself than at this moment.

"Ariadne, what did you dream about?" he asks gently. Immediately, he regrets it. Ariadne's whole face seems to collapse with fear, and this is not part of the plan. Arthur can deal with obstacles, with guns and big angry men, but this tiny doll-like form oozing terror... this, he has no clue how to deal with. "Don't," he pleads. "Ariadne, please don't cry. I'm sorry, I-"

"It was you," she says simply, locking her gaze on his. "I was dreaming about you, about inception. Only this time it wasn't Cobb in Limbo, or me or Saito. It was you, and you- you wouldn't wake up. I was trying everything b-but..."

She trails off, tears flowing freely down her heart-shaped face, and shakes her head miserably. Arthur reaches out to stroke her tearstained cheeks, and she latches onto the contact gratefully. Before he knows what exactly is happening, she has launched herself across the small void between them and is pressing herself to his bare chest. Her sobs rack both of their bodies.

"I- if you... I couldn't. I couldn't bare it," she gasps over and over, and all Arthur can do is sit there and stroke her hair dumbly. He has always prided himself on his above-average intelligence, but somehow Ariadne always manages to make him feel like a complete idiot. "Sorry," she coughs, pulling away to swipe at her red-rimmed eyes. Arthur stares openly at her.

"What on earth for?"

"This. The screaming. Waking you up."

"As far as I know, it's not a crime."

"No, I mean... for all the amature dramatics. You must be so tired, and I've interrupted your sleep."

"Your sleep has been interrupted too," he reminds her, and she gives a watery attempt at a laugh. He feels better when she smiles, seeing a little colour return to her cheeks. "That's an improvement. You should try to sleep, you're exhasuted."

"I can't!" she blurts. Arthur stares and a flaming blush sweeps across Ariadne's cheeks. "I... what if they come back? The nightmares, I mean?"

She tucks herself in under his arm, and Arthur marvels at how tiny and delicate she is, yet how she is simultaneously one of the strongest people he has ever met.

"They won't," he assures her, but she shakes her head.

"How do you know?" she counters, and there is a challenge behind the shroud of fear. Arthur flashes her a tight smile.

"It's never as bad the second time around," he whispers. "Trust me, I have plenty of experience."

"You promise?"

"Scout's honour."

"I bet you made a perfect Scout," she murmurs, her fingers fluttering lightly along his arm. "'Always be prepared', right? It's like your mantra."

Ariadne shifts and the bed creaks with the movement. She is on her knees before him and her face is set with determination. She is dressed in little more than an ice- blue slip and her lips are pink as she runs her tongue nervously over the lower one. Her hand reaches out and her fingers trace the shadow of his collarbone. A wave of warmth ripples through him.

"Will you stay?" she whispers with pleading eyes. She shifts closer to him again and they are so close that Arthur can see every individual lash guarding those beautiful brown eyes. "In case the nightmares come back? Will you stay?"

Arthur swallows and his hand slides up to wipe the tears from her face. Her eyes light up at the touch and he has a feeling their brightness is mirrored in his own.

"In case the nightmares come back," he repeats in a hushed voice.

"Or," Ariadne breathes, and she tilts her head so that Arthur knows exactly what is coming next. He feels his breath hitch, and some part of his brain is whirring and telling him what to do but he can't really tune into it because the rest of him is singing with joy. Ariadne cups his face in her hands and kisses him, slowly and passionately. At first, his system is in shock, but then he reciprocates and it is like fireworks exploding inside him. They move as one and a moan of pleasure slips from him as Ariadne's velvety tongue slides in between his parted lips and she pushes him back onto her pillow.

In this moment, Arthur is not trying to plan ahead. He is not thinking of what to do next or how to stay on schedule. All he is aware of is Ariadne, and he is almost grateful that she wasn't able to sleep soundly tonight.

Almost.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

When he wakes the next morning, he finds sunlight streaming through the window and Ariadne tucked safely into his side, fast asleep. Her lashes brush her cheeks and a small smile caresses her features.

Arthur sits up gingerly, afraid to wake her, and runs his hands through his hair. He hasn't gelled it back this morning, so it is soft and flops slightly into his eyes. He cannot believe what has happened. Or, more acurately, he cannot believe that it is for the reasons he wants it to be.

She was scared, last night, he tells himself. She was scared to sleep, and he was there. That is all there is to it, for her. That's that. Case closed.

Arthur has always prided himself on his organizational skills. He has always been the one who makes things happen, who keeps things on schedule. He works through life as a series of tasks, and emotion has never come into it. How ironic that the one time it has, it is unreciprocated.

He sighs and looks down at Ariadne's sleeping form. He adores her, he realises that now.

'_It was worth a shot,'_ he had said to her once, and he knows now that that is true. They _were_ worth a shot.

As though she feels his frustration, Ariadne stirs and opens her eyes sleepily. When her gaze falls on him, a grin splits her face and she sits up. She clutches the blanket to her and plants a chaste kiss on his lips.

"Morning," she says huskily.

"Good morning Ariadne."

"Are you alright?"

"Of course."

"Sure?" she asks, wrapping herself around him from behind.

"What are we?" he says in a flat voice. "I mean, last night was wonderful but... was it..."

"A once off?" Ariadne finishes, and Arthur nods sheepishly. She sighs and scoots around to face him, a gentle expression on her tender features. "I don't do one-night stands Arthur. I care about you."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," she teases playfully and she shakes her magnificent head of dark hair, which Arthur pulled free of its bindings the night before. She kisses him again, tentative yet driven. Her kisses taste like tangerines. "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

An hour or so later, they have checked out. Ariadne stands waiting for a cab, which will take them to her cousin's apartment on the other side of the city. Her trench coat is pulled tight around her and her smile is still in place. Arthur is next to her, their bags at his feet. He is smiling too, a rare occurance for him, and his fingers are interlaced with hers.

His cell phone begins to vibrate in his pocket and he fishes it out quickly. He rolls his eyes when he sees the name on the screen:

_Eames calling_.

"I knew we wouldn't escape for long," he mutters in a dark undertone, showing the screen to Ariadne, who smirks. "Why can't we live a normal life like everyone else?"

"Where's the fun in that?" she challenges, eyebrows raised. Arthur rolls his eyes again and answers the call.

"Hello Eames," he says in a long-suffering tone.

"Arthur darling!" the Englishman booms, and Arthur winces. "I've left you half a dozen voice messages, what have you been up to that you couldn't call me back? It's not a woman, is it?" The laugh in his voice is a challenge.

"Actually..."

"Arthur! My God, we have a lot to talk about old chap!" Eames chuckles heartily. "Listen, I have a great job lined up for us..."

He launches into a long-winded explanation and Arthur allows Ariadne to listen in. It's a good job, an intriguing one. They nod in unison when Eames finishes his speech.

"Alright then," says Arthur, trying to affect an air of unwillingness. He can't have Eames knowing he missed him, it would just give the insufferable lout more ammunition to tease him with. "I'm in. Tell me when and where."

"Excellent! Meet me at LAX at eight tonight. And if you can track down that feisty little architect of ours, that would be just marvellous."

"Not a problem," Arthur affirms. "Ariadne is actually here with me as we speak."

"Oh right," says Eames, and then he pauses. "Oh, _right_. Bloody hell Arthur, we really _do_ have a lot to talk about."

Arthur hangs up before the Englishman can say any more. Ariadne stands before him, arms akimbo and wearing a smirk.

"I guess that's keeping a low profile out of the question then?" she laughs breezily and Arthur nods weakly.

"What's life without a little risk?" he shrugs.

"I thought you didn't like risks."

"If we didn't take risks, we wouldn't be standing here right now," Arthur argues. Ariadne grins and stands on tip toe to kiss him tenderly.

"Fair point."

In time, the taxi comes and they get in. Tonight, they will meet Eames at the airport and he will tease them relentlessly. They will embark on another job and if Arthur has anything to do with it, it will go perfectly to plan.

But for now at least, they are just them. No plans or plotting or schedules. And for once, Arthur is OK with that.

**/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/**

**OK, I have no idea what to think. Review to help me make up my mind?**


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